


Duobus Unum

by Adenil



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Computer, F/F, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Relationship Negotiation, Trans Woman Newt Pulsifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: Crowley has a computer that's in a very bad way indeed. He calls upon the help of the only humans he actually knows: Newt and Anathema. A relationship develops.





	Duobus Unum

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](https://tadfield-advertiser.dreamwidth.org/517.html?thread=129797) on the Tadfield Advertiser.

Crowley really just wanted someone to fix his computer. He could have miracled it better, but he’d seen a news report about how all the stylish, young technophiles had their own personal computer programmer on retainer. He rather liked thinking of himself as stylish (although certainly not “young”) and decided to get one for himself. Only, he didn’t know any proper programmers. In fact, the only person he knew who had anything to do with computers was—

“Newt,” he said, throwing open the door and leaning against the jamb artfully. “And Anathema! Fancy seeing you again. How’s the bike?”

“Interestingly, it’s developed a habit of moving without me pedaling it.”

“Ah. Strange, that.”

Anathema grinned. Her tan hand was wrapped in Newt’s pale one, and each of them had a bag over one shoulder. Anathema’s was her usual faintly-witchy-feeling purse and Newt’s was positively overflowing with cables, cords, and wrenches.

“May we come in?” Newt asked politely.

“If you insist.”

Crowley slinked away from the door and the two women followed after. Crowley could feel them eagerly looking around his flat for hints as to his character. Joke’s on them: he was an enigma.[1]

“Is this…where you live?” Newt asked politely.

“For a certain definition of ‘live,’ sure,” Crowley said. He pointed to his gold filigree table and throne. “That’s where I do my brooding. Through there is the garden. Don’t touch anything in there. It’s all a bit cursed.”

Newt nervously shoved her hands in her pockets.

Anathema merely looked amused. “You have a lovely home.”

“Allegedly,” Crowley responded. “Shall I put a kettle on?”

“Please,” said Anathema.

“Perhaps we should see to your computer while we wait?” said Newt.

Crowley nodded and lead them through the garden, past the kitchen, and into his office. His computer was a thin silver screen with cables running under the industrial-looking desk. The chair was made of a now-extinct black hardwood and the cushions were soft red velvet stuffed with down. Newt had a seat and laid out her computer bag. She withdrew two gloves and snapped them over her hands.

“Still have that problem, then?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. These are just a precaution. Anathema will do most of the touching. I just need to tell her what to do.”

Crowley nodded. “I’ll see about that tea.”

He strolled from the office and back into the kitchen. His kettle was the new sort that boiled water instantly,[2] and by the time he had three steaming cups of tea set out on a tray along with cream, sugar, and a spread of biscuits,[3] only two minutes had passed. Newt already looked done with her work and had taken off her gloves.

“Well, we’ve figured out the problem,” she said.

“Oh?” Crowley set down the tray. “One lump or two?”

“Two, please,” said Newt.

“None for me,” said Anathema.

Crowley doled out the tea, wincing only slightly at the amount of cream Anathema poured into hers. The three of them stood around the desk because there was only one chair.

“The problem,” Newt said after she’d had a sip of tea. “Is that you haven’t actually got a computer.”

“Yes I have.” Crowley gestured at the thing on his desk. “It’s right there.”

“No, what you have is a monitor and some cables. Most of these cables don’t actually do anything.” Newt pointed to one at random. “See that? It doesn’t even have a plug. It’s just a length of wire.”

Crowley frowned. “But I use the internet all the time.”

“How?” Newt asked in clear surprise.

Crowley set down his tea and lounged in his desk chair. He brought out the mouse and clicked a few times until the screen lit up with his desktop.

“Astonishing,” Newt said, leaning over Crowley’s shoulder.

He could feel the warmth of Newt’s very human body and he leaned back to smirk at her. “What’s so astonishing about a computer?”

“It just…it shouldn’t be able to work,” Newt said, befuddled. “You haven’t got anything attached. It’s _literally_ just a screen.”

Anathema patted her shoulder. “Newt, sweetheart, remember who you’re talking to.”

“Oh, right.” Newt looked embarrassed. “Demon. Sorry, I forgot.”

“No bother.” Crowley shrugged and slouched dramatically to one side. “With the glasses on it’s a bit hard to remember.”

“What do you mean?” asked Newt.

Oh. Right. They didn’t actually know what he had under there. Crowley shifted, a bit embarrassed now himself. “…You don’t want to know.”

Now they were both leaning over him. Anathema was squinting at him curiously as if her gaze could pierce the dark glass—which it might actually have been able to, if she knew the right spell. “Is it not eyes?”

Crowley laughed. “It’s definitely eyes.”

“Then what’s the concern?”

“They’re just a bit…” Crowley made a motion with his hand sort of like a dying bird being eaten by a snake. “Last time a human caught sight of them without my glamour on things didn’t go well. Sparked a whole rigmarole with the witch burnings, well you know.”

“All that over your eyes?” Newt looked oddly impressed.

“Well, the eyes and also that whole thing with the governments coming and going, plus all those wealthy people wanting to seize their land, and witches were encouraging women to be a bit uppity so the men decided, skhtt—” He made a slicing motion over his throat. “They had to go. Eyes were just an excuse, really. The tipping point into quite a lot of chaos.”

“Crowley…” Anathema exchanged a look with Newt and a whole unspoken conversation took place in the air over Crowley’s head. “When’s the last time you just talked to a human? You know, as yourself? Without it being for a job, I mean.”

“Right now, I suppose.”

“I mean before now.”

“Well, I—er, nnnstf…Ngk? Fllbt.”

Newt and Anathema had another silent conversation with just their eyes. That was getting a bit annoying, if Crowley was honest.[4]

“This tea is lovely,” Newt said suddenly. “And these biscuits, did you make them?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. I did. Old family recipe.”[5]

“Divine,” Anathema agreed, nibbling on one. She perched on the edge of the desk. “Why don’t you show us your computer problem?”

“Oh, right. Right.” Crowley scooched forward and set his hands to the keyboard. He could still feel Newt pressed against the back of his chair, and now his peripheral vision was fully distracted by Anathema as well. He could feel her dark eyes watching him curiously, the spark of magic surrounding her. She was faintly humming with energy, although Crowley doubted Newt could hear it.

He clicked around on his computer and behind him Newt gasped.

“What is _that_? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I dunno, but it’s certainly annoying.”

“Crowley, you have…” Newt’s eyes flickered over the screen as if she was trying to count them all. “ _Way_ too many viruses. And those pop ups! How did you possible get that many? What in the world have you been doing?”

“It was like this when I got it,” Crowley lied.

Newt seemed entranced by the flashing colors on the screen. Her mouth hung partially open. “Some of these I’ve only ever heard about in myths and legends.”

Crowley grunted, annoyed. “Can you be rid of them? They’ve been interfering with my email.”

“Honestly, I think you’d be better off just burning this computer and starting over.”

Anathema looked as well. “I agree. Even a thorough smudging wouldn’t be enough to fix this cursed thing.”

“But I have it set up just how I like it.” Crowley sank despondently into the desk chair. “I’ll never get a computer that works as well as this one.”

Newt patted his shoulder in condolences. “We can help you find one. We’ll even help you load any programs you need onto it. What do you generally use your computer for?”

“Internet,” Crowley said. “I need it to check my email.”[6]

They both waited, apparently expecting him to continue speaking.

“Erm, I used to use it to file reports to the Home Office? But I don’t need it for that anymore.”

“Right,” Anathema said, adding her hand to his shoulder beside Newt’s. “I think we’ll be able to find you a new computer that works even better than your old one.”

Crowley perked up. “Really? I’ll have you know my standards are very exacting.”

Newt looked back to the horrifying conglomeration of viruses and popups on Crowley’s ‘computer.’ “Yes,” she said. “I can see that.”

Six hours later two humans and a demon stumbled back into the flat carrying a large, unwieldy box. Well, Anathema and Crowley were carrying it. Newt hovered to the side too nervous to actually touch the box after she had accidentally brushed against a printer at the computer store and it had exploded.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Crowley said with a jerk of his head towards a door that had only just appeared. “You can get that ink off.”

“Thank you,” Newt said and disappeared into the next room.

Crowley and Anathema wrestled the computer box into his office and onto his desk. He shoved his old, useless computer off onto the floor to make room for his shiny new one. Anathema leaned against the wall, catching her breath and watching him as he gleefully set the new thing up.

“You still don’t think this is excessive?”

“Excessive?” Crowley hissed. “How dare you.”

There was no venom to his words and so Anathema merely smiled and shook her head with growing fondness. Crowley had insisted on buying a top-of-the-line model, plus two extra computer monitors so he could browse his plant photos in surround. He’d also gotten a black gaming keyboard that was lit underneath with red lights that matched his desk chair. While his standards may have been lacking in the functionality department he more than made up for it in aesthetics.

“You know,” she began slowly, testing the waters. “This was nice.”

Crowley’s shoulders stiffened. “Nice?” he hissed with an edge of danger.

Anathema backpedaled quickly. “What I mean is, Newt and I don’t get to hang out with other adults much. Everyone in Tadfield is…”

“A bloody twat?”

“I would have phrased it differently, but yeah, I guess. It’s all too normal. It’s so idyllic it’s weird.”

“Needed a demon to spice up your day, hmm?” Crowley smirked.

“Yes,” Anathema said flatly. “Going shopping with you for a new computer was a truly evil experience.”

“Kept you from doing real work, didn’t I? That’s sloth, that is.”

“What I’m saying is if you ever want…company, I think Newt and I would be happy to oblige you.”

“Oblige what?” Newt came back in with her face scrubbed clean and flushed pink.

“Oblige Crowley. To visit him.”

“Oh, yes, that.” Newt nodded with a little too much enthusiasm. “Yes, we’d very much like to visit with you, Mr. Crowley.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, suspicious now. This level of friendliness didn’t jive with what he knew of his previous relationships with humans. Generally they were run off screaming by this point. “Alright?” he said. “If you like. No skin off my nose.”

They beamed at him in a way that made his skin crawl. It was far too pleasant a feeling.

Newt and Anathema began to drive down from Tadfield to visit him every-other-week. It was a nice break from the stunning monotony of his retirement. Sure, he and Aziraphale had each other now, but they both knew better than to let their lives be fully consumed by their friendship. That would have gotten boring incredibly quickly. Aziraphale had his books, and his shop, and increasingly a gaggle of queer teenagers who used his shop as a nesting place to avoid going back to unwelcoming homes. Crowley had his plants, and his brooding, and now Anathema and Newt.

His struggle to remember the last time he’d had a friendship with a human had been real. He honestly couldn’t recall. He was sure there had been a few—Sappho he’d been friendly with. And Cleopatra, and Alexander before he’d become so Great a Twat. But those had all been before _anno domini_ , and he’d never revealed his true nature to them.

As far as he knew Anathema and Newt were the only humans who’d been his friend _and_ known he was a demon.

It was a bit weird, really.

They’d gone out to dinner with Aziraphale. Newt had been absolutely stunned by the extravagance of the Ritz, and Anathema had held her hand throughout the whole experience. Aziraphale told them about the absolutely-not-righteous-talking-to he had wrought upon the parents of a young non-binary person. Crowley, who had witnessed a few of Aziraphale’s talking to’s over the centuries, suspected that the teen would soon be welcomed back with open (albeit terrified) arms. No one could stay cruel after Aziraphale put the fear of God into them.[7]

Afterwards, they’d gone for ice cream, because that was a bit more Newt’s speed, and Anathema spoke with glee about how she’d delighted The Them with stories about all the different ice cream flavors in America. Crowley, who had invented frozen yogurt, quietly mourned for all the children who never got to experience anything more creative than chocolate-vanilla-swirl.

They’d wandered through the park, and Crowley had shown off his favorite bench while Aziraphale waxed nostalgic over all the fretting and planning that had taken place there. Anathema and Newt were still holding hands, and Aziraphale would occasionally bump elbows with Crowley, and things were pleasant and sweet and…nice.

Crowley dropped Aziraphale off back at his shop and took the two humans to his flat. They were staying the night to avoid the long drive[8] back to Tadfield in the dark. They’d stayed over a few times now, after Crowley had miracled up a guest room and Anathema had stocked it with trinkets and crystals and nice-smelling incense sticks that didn’t need to burn to have the whole flat smelling lovely.

Anathema and Newt both went into the guest room to change into their nightgowns, inexplicably taking longer than was strictly necessary to change clothes, and when they came back out Crowley was having a good brood in his throne.

“Some biscuits in the kitchen,” he murmured without lifting his head. “Help yourself.”

Newt disappeared into the kitchen and Anathema perched herself on the edge of the filigree table. She looked down at Crowley and he tried to avoid the weight of her gaze by sprawling in a different direction.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Crowley grunted.

“Mm,” she said, apparently agreeing with whatever she had interpreted that grunt to mean. “Just a long day?”

“Long life,” Crowley said. His eyes slid shut and he pictured Aziraphale’s gentle face, missing him slightly. He wished he had given Aziraphale a kiss when he’d dropped him off. Or that he’d had Aziraphale come back to his flat, too. But no. This was good. It was good to have separate interests. He’d read that online; it kept a relationship fresh.

Crowley felt the air shift beside him and Anathema’s cool hands on his shoulder. “Lean forward,” she said.

He did so and Anathema set to work rubbing at his shoulders. A tension he had been carrying for six thousand years slowly loosened at her touch. There might have been a bit of magic involved, but he wasn’t complaining. His eyes were still closed as soft footfalls approached: Newt reentering the room. There was a click as Newt set the plate of biscuits down, and then the crisp sound of her biting into one.

“Mr. Crowley,” Newt said very softly. “We were wondering if we might ask you a question.”

“Mnnr,” Crowley said.

“We’ve been enjoying so much the time we spend with you, and with getting to know you. And, well...We were quite wondering if you relationship with Aziraphale is exclusive? Or if you might be open to us being involved with you as well, you know, romantically?”

Crowley was so involved in the massage that the words initially meant nothing to him. Gradually, they filtered through, rolling themselves over and over in his mind, until suddenly he understood what was being asked of him.

“What!”

He was up, pacing around the room, hips swaying as he tried to figure out how to deal with this new information.

“You,” he said, pointing at Newt. “And, and _you_.” Pointing at Anathema now. “Me?” To himself. “Aziraphale? You, me, you? And me? And you think— _me_!? And you!”

Anathema giggled. “You seem surprised.”

“Well, just, _you_.” Crowley stopped short and forcibly regained control over himself. “I can’t believe you’d have any interest in me.” He was stricken, suddenly, with a very terrible idea. “Oh, no, the _tempting_. I’m sorry, truly I am. I thought I’d turned it off, but maybe I didn’t get it all?” He slapped his forehead. “The hips! Of course. How could I be so stupid?”

“Crowley!” Newt held up her hands placatingly. “It’s alright. It isn’t that.”

“It isn’t?”

“No,” Anathema agreed. “I would have known. I would have seen it in your aura if you were trying—or not trying, in this case—to do any demonic tempting. No, this is just you.”

Crowley held completely still. “Just me.”

“Yes, you,” Anathema said again. “We like you.”

“And if you’re at all interested in us,” Newt added. “We’d very much like to get to know you a bit better. Aziraphale willing, of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley said, then, “Wait, what?”

“If you haven’t decided on monogamy, we mean,” Anathema said patiently. “Like Newt and I, we’re each other’s primary partner, but we like to engage romantically with other people sometimes. Usually together. That’s what we’d like with you. To date you.”

“Oh, right. Of course, of course. Silly me not to realize it.” He laughed, sounding more than a bit panicked, because apparently when you liked someone you could just _tell_ them instead of pining for 6,000 years until Armageddon forced your hand. He abruptly snapped his mouth shut. “I need to speak with Aziraphale.”

He raised his hand to snap Aziraphale to them, but Anathema grabbed him before he could.

“Hey!” she said, giggling nervously. “No need to get him out of bed right now.”

“He doesn’t sleep.”

“Right, well. I just mean you can think on it tonight and call him in the morning. It’s not—we didn’t mean to panic you, Crowley.”

She looked at him beseechingly. Crowley stood there with his hand raised like an idiot, Anathema hanging off his arm. He looked at her, and then to Newt, and then back at her.

“…Panic?” He said, laughing again. He forced himself to feign nonchalance. “Who said I was panicked?”

Anathema dropped his arm and he took a step back, wiping his hands on his trousers.

“Perhaps we should be getting to bed?” Newt offered.

“Great idea,” said Anathema. “We’ll let you think about it, okay Crowley? Really, you can take your time. And any decision you come to we will be happy with.”

He waved awkwardly as they shuffled off to bed, and as soon as the door closed behind them he descended on his phone.

“It really is _quite_ late, and we are _quite_ closed, thank you.”

“Aziraphale, I love you.”

“Oh! Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice warmed. “Yes, so you’ve said. Or rather, I mean—I love you, too, of course.”

“Of course.”

Aziraphale tittered. “Is everything alright, dear? You sound a bit off.”

“Forgot to tell you I love you today, is all,” Crowley said. He pillowed his chin in his hands and didn’t try to hide his heart eyes. There was no one to see him, anyway. “Did you know everyone just assumes we’re together? Romantically, I mean.”

“Yes. I’m afraid even passing acquaintances figured it out before we did.”

“Rather hard to notice what’s going on with our heads so far up our asses.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said. Crowley could hear him rustling and he pictured his angel settling into his plush chair for a nice long chat. “Did you call just to reminisce about our shared incompetence?”

“No.” Crowley breathed out a sigh. “I actually needed your advice.”

“Well, it must be serious,” Aziraphale said with a hint of gentle mockery. “If you’re going to an angel for help.”

Crowley grinned. “See, this is why I don’t tell you things. You’re always teasing me.”

“My dear, you tell me everything.”

“Maybe I like the teasing, then?” He lounged over his throne and sighed. “Here’s the story…”

They talked for hours, until the sun was slanting through the window again and Crowley was feeling a great deal better. After he hung up he went to make coffee and by the time Anathema and Newt came out of the guest room rubbing eyes and smothering yawns behind sleepy hands, Crowley was ready to talk.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing at the twin coffee cups poised at the edge of his kitchen bar. “Let’s get this sorted.”

Newt smiled beatifically and Anathema looked a bit smug. They sat, and the three spent the rest of the morning figuring things out.

After he saw Newt and Anathema off that afternoon he went to Aziraphale’s bookshop. He locked himself in with the angel and they didn’t come out for three days, and only then because Aziraphale had a march to get to. They painted each other’s faces with rainbows and glitter and lead a gaggle of teenagers shouting and chanting through the streets of London.

This was a date, Crowley realized with sudden clarity. They were on a date.

Newt and Anathema had, in recent months, taken to watching movies with Crowley. They’d seen a number of films curled up together on his couch, but this was the first one the three of them would watch together since The Talk.

Crowley was sat between the two women with a bowl of popcorn on his lap and the dawning knowledge that they had orchestrated this seating arrangement. Dangers (or perks?) of dating a couple meant they often connived together to romance him. Warm shoulders brushed on either side of him and hands dipped into the bowl between his legs at odd intervals.

He had absolutely no idea what the film was about. His focus had flown out the window before the adverts were even through. All he could think about was Newt, tall and lanky down his right side, and Anathema, warm and solid down his left. Newt’s hair had gotten longer over the year, and the silken locks brushed against Crowley’s cheek as she lay her head on his shoulder. It was stunning.

At some point during the third act Anathema had slipped her hand into his. There was a faint hint of grease, a bit of roughness from the fine granules of salt that still clung to her fingertips. Crowley lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back. He could do this. Whenever he wanted, he could do this. He could kiss either of them and they wouldn’t run screaming, or fall into eternal damnation, or think he was something he wasn’t. They knew him, and he was allowed to know them.

Absolutely stunning.

When the film ended they stayed like that, entangled. Newt left his side for only a moment to put away the popcorn bowl and then was back, her form curling around him like a blanket. He let his head fall against the back of the couch and felt twin pairs of lips against his neck.

“This okay?” Anathema asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said, and then wiggled. “Wait, wait.”

They pulled away curiously as he sat up. He turned first to Newt, his hands coming up to frame her face. Gently, he slipped her glasses from the bridge of her nose and turned to set them on the coffee table. He kissed the squint between Newt’s eyebrows. Next, he turned to Anathema and did the same, folding her glasses and placing them alongside Newt’s. Finally, he lifted his hands to his own face.

Three pairs of glasses on the table, arms folded, glass glinting in the dim light from the screensaver on the television. On the couch, two humans and a demon intertwined, hands slipping and sliding, kisses peppering heated skin. And eyes. Eyes burning and gazing and looking and seeing and knowing. Knowing, in that stunning way, that everything would be just fine. Knowing and, strangely enough, believing.

[1] He wasn’t. But he liked to pretend.

[2] But only because he expected it to.

[3] It was the same spread he’d made each afternoon during his stint as Nanny Ashtoreth.

[4] Only he was allowed to have silent conversations, and only with Aziraphale specifically. That was _their_ thing.

[5] By which he meant he’d stolen it from a family of chefs.

[6] Crowley received an average of forty-seven emails per day. Of those one was from Figs and Leaves Daily Plant Magazine & Imagery, one was the London Antique Car Owners Association Daily Digest, and the rest were all from Aziraphale. Aziraphale was quite taken by “forwarding” things. In retrospect, that may have been the cause of his viruses.

[7] Or just the fear of Aziraphale, in this case.

[8] It was about forty minutes. Newt found this interminably long whereas Anathema, being more American in inclination, considered it a quick jaunt. She called the trip to London “going to town.”


End file.
